Chapter 6 — True Skinchanger
Mid 101 A.C
POV — Third Person
The fire crackled low inside the tent.
Barthogan was no longer trembling, but the experience was still etched into his skin and mind. The bond with Breu had not fully broken; it was as if part of him still remained in the sea, feeling the weight of the water and the slow movement of that massive body.
Magnus was the first to break the silence.
"You did something few men would dare," he said, his deep voice heavy with pride. "Jumping into the open, freezing sea at your age…" He let out a low laugh. "Many would wait for the Wall itself to melt before even thinking of that—especially with a whole pod of narwhals swimming around."
There was a restrained smile on his face, almost feral. Magnus saw courage where others saw recklessness.
Clea, on the other hand, did not smile.
She stepped forward too quickly, gripping her son's face hard enough to hurt.
"Have you lost your mind?!" Her voice came out louder than she intended. "Entering that sea… naked… alone… You could have died! You had never swum before! How could you do that?!"
"But I didn't die," Barth replied softly, without defiance. "And I felt it was the right thing to do."
"That doesn't matter!" she snapped. "What matters is that you are a child and should obey your mother!"
The word echoed inside the tent like a blow.
Magnus sighed.
"He's not an ordinary child, Clea. He never was. You know that. He learns fast… and he's a skinchanger. We can't cage him."
"That doesn't make him immortal," she replied, her eyes wet but hard. "Nor does it protect him from mistakes."
For a moment, no one spoke. The fire popped, throwing shadows against the leather walls.
Crester watched in silence, arms crossed, far too attentive for someone pretending not to care.
"What's done is done," he finally said. "And it was an important step. He had to do it. Maybe not this way… but he needed to connect with his companion. The sooner, the better."
Barth lowered his gaze. There was no point in arguing. He knew he would do it again—and he was certain he had never been in real danger.
"The gods bless the brave," he murmured.
He didn't dare lift his eyes to see their reactions.
Eight months later
102 A.C
Winter showed no mercy, but Barth no longer felt the cold the same way.
During those months, Crester taught him everything he knew—and a little of what he wished he could forget. He showed him that living as his companions did strengthened the bond: understanding how they hunted, when they moved, how they listened, how they breathed. Tuning himself to them was part of mastery.
The lessons were not gentle.
They came with falls, controlled hunger, long marches in absolute silence, and hours spent simply watching his companions hunt freely.
Barth absorbed everything.
During breaks, he asked questions.
"How many men usually patrol together in the Night's Watch?"
"Do they change routes often?"
"Where do they keep weapons and supplies?"
Crester raised an eyebrow at every question.
"You think too much about the crows, boy."
"They think too much about wildlings," Barth replied casually.
One night, while sharpening arrowheads near the fire, Barth commented as if it were nothing:
"I was thinking… Thief could steal a few things from them. Just to see if she can."
Crester choked on his own laughter.
"Steal from the Night's Watch…" He shook his head. "The gods truly have a sense of humor."
He tried to look serious, but couldn't suppress his grin.
"It's a terrible idea," he added. "And incredibly tempting."
It was during this time that Barth began noticing changes impossible to ignore.
His vision was different—sharper, deeper. He could see details in the snow, in distant animal movements, in the flight of birds that would once have gone unnoticed.
Thief had changed as well.
Snowy owls were almost always white as winter itself. Thief was no longer.
Her feathers had turned coal-black. Her eyes, once amber, now burned with intense gold. At just over a year old, she was already nearing the size of a full-grown owl—and still growing, with no sign of slowing.
And it wasn't just size.
She learned far too quickly.
Breu, in turn, had grown even more alarmingly. In less than a year, he had surpassed six meters, becoming the largest in the pod. More than that—he had become its leader.
The others followed him.
That was when Barth understood.
This was not the false skinchanging of stories. It wasn't merely seeing through another's eyes. Nor was it simply control.
It was exchange.
With every new bond, something in him changed—strength, endurance, speed, senses. Everything was absorbed, shaped, imprinted into his own flesh.
And the same happened to his creatures.
They ceased to be what they once were.
And so did he.
The request to the ROB had not been half-granted. It had come in ways he hadn't expected—but he liked it.
Still, the realization brought unease.
If this continued… the offspring of his creatures would be different. Stronger. More dominant. Capable of disrupting the surrounding fauna.
Skagos began to form in his mind not as ambition, but as necessity.
A closed island. A place where he could contain what he was creating.
He already imagined it: strengthening the entire fauna. One day, all creatures there would be unlike any in Westeros. Skagos would be a cradle.
Black beasts of the night, with golden eyes.
A symbol.
Upon understanding his true potential, Barth had an idea—one he did not wish to test yet. He would do it in Skagos, and nowhere else.
And if it worked with plants?
Would they change as well?
Was that how the greenseers worked?
He would see in time. Not now.
When it was time to part, Crester returned to the Valley of the Thenns.
Before that, Barth pulled him aside, away from his parents.
"When I go south," he said quietly, "I'll need someone like you."
Crester stared at him for a long moment.
"If I'm still alive," he replied, "maybe I will."
There were no promises. Only understanding.
The journey home was silent.
Barth tried to convince his parents to stay near the coast. He spoke of fishing, routes, opportunities.
He failed.
Not yet.
He knew he needed to grow more. To become strong enough to be heard.
Until then, he would train.
The breathing arts became more natural with each passing day. The bonds, deeper. Longer-lasting.
Time was on his side.
Three years later
105 A.C
POV — Barthogan
Time passed as only the North allowed it to: slow, harsh, relentless.
Breu had reached nearly eight meters. His tusk measured just over three. His growth had finally slowed—almost imperceptible, but not gone.
Thief had become something that could no longer be called an owl.
Bigger. Smarter. Deadlier.
Her wingspan exceeded two meters. Her talons were powerful, almost like a bear's. Pitch-black, silent, unfair to her prey. Golden eyes that missed nothing.
The bonds now crossed immense distances.
It was during this time that Thief stole a simple sword—true steel. Barth gave it to his father as silent gratitude for every blow he had been taught.
Then came the map.
A map of Westeros—large, but portable. Stolen directly from Castle Black.
Clean. Silent.
No one would miss it.
As Barth studied the parchment, he marked his priorities: Skagos, White Harbor, the Iron Islands.
They were on the right side of the continent.
All that remained was to follow the sea.
There were dangers: storms, crows, patrol ships.
But on paper…
It seemed possible.
They would need ships. Swimming was not an option. Clinging to Breu might work—but his family would not survive the cold.
He would not leave them behind.
So he sent Thief to Skagos.
To explore. To observe. To learn.
After that, she would fly across the North to White Harbor, where Barth intended to learn—and steal—knowledge, materials, and shipbuilding techniques.
Then, the Iron Islands.
Thief departed swiftly, flying toward Skagos.
To prepare the way.
And this time, Barth told his parents about his plans.
Well… almost all of them.
We were sitting in the main room. Clea and Magnus watched me in silence; I had told them I had something important to say. I was already very different from when I had first appeared in that world. I was nearly eleven years old—only a few months short—and stood around one meter sixty tall. It still surprised me; I hadn't known a child could reach such height so early. My genetics, combined with the bonds, probably had something to do with it.
My jet-black hair seemed to absorb the light. It was very dark, relatively short, and I kept it brushed back so my fringe wouldn't fall over my eyes. My mother used to say I looked like one of the heroes from the old tales. The most striking feature, however, were my golden eyes—they truly drew attention. I had already seen my reflection through Thief's eyes.
He had the same eyes as I did.
"Well…" I began. "I called you both because I sent Thief to Skagos."
They both reacted immediately, but I continued before either could speak.
"I want to try to reach Skagos and live there. Maybe leave this side of the Wall. The climate is milder, and there would be more opportunities for all of us. I thought about observing how the men of the south build ships… maybe we could make one. Traveling by sea, with Thief and Breu, we'd face less danger."
My mother let out a long sigh.
"Be careful when exploring beyond the Wall, Barth," she said. "The men there are treacherous. And I know that if Thief were killed, you would be weakened for a time. Your bond is special… we don't know what effects that could have on you." Her voice softened. "I don't want to see you hurt."
Before she could continue, my father interrupted her.
"Son, I don't know if we want to live beyond the Wall. I was born and raised here. And you're dreaming far too high. The crows and the Starks would never allow us to live in Skagos—or whatever that place is called."
"Father, it will work," I replied. "Even if you don't like it there, you should at least go with me and come back. We can take a few things and leave… things that would make life easier for you and for mother."
Magnus crossed his arms, thoughtful.
"Either way, this is still far off," I said. "And we need to build a boat. That will take time, especially if I do it alone."
"I'll help," he replied after a moment. "It may be a foolish dream… but if it works, I'm sure there are many other foolish men willing to help you claim Skagos. There are men and women who would give anything to leave this place."
I nodded.
"I promise you, father. I will have Skagos. You know what I'm capable of. With my bonded animals, I feel stronger than ever." I hesitated for a second. "And I'm thinking about trying to find a giant wolf. It would help with protection."
My parents exchanged exasperated looks and sighed almost at the same time.
"Do as you wish, Barthogan," my father finally said. "But I'm going with you."
My mother smiled faintly.
"Then it will be a family hunt."
I knew she had been unhappy lately. It had been a long time since she had helped train me; now I only practiced shooting at targets. She had nothing left to teach me. I spent most of my time training with Magnus—axe work, sparring, sometimes unarmed combat.
With the breathing techniques, I gave him real trouble now. We almost always ended in a draw. Neither of us attacked to kill, and rarely did either manage to force a surrender; the fight ended when one of us tired first.
A draw.
And for me, that was already a victory.
It wouldn't take long before I surpassed him.
"Then we leave as soon as Thief reaches Skagos," I concluded with a light smile. "That way I'll feel more at ease."
I had wanted to tell them about my plans for a long time.